chapter two
Jess was sitting at the bar when I bounded down the hallway a few minutes later. I’d successfully tamed my hair, but I was still undressed, unmedicated, and unfed. Unfortunately, there was a shirtless Scot handing Jess a plate of waffles. I glared from across the room, focusing all my energy on getting her to turn and look at me.
“I’m here on a student visa. It’s only for the year, but I wouldn’t mind staying longer,” he told her.
“And you’re from Edinburgh?” Jess asked him, but he laughed. “I’m butchering that name, right?”
“It’s Ed-in-burr-oh,” he said, pronouncing it slowly for emphasis. “It’s the capitol of Scotland. We have the best artists and businesses.”
“Except for America?” Jess teased.
“Anyone ever tell you Americans have a superiority complex?” he asked, but his damn accent made it sound sexy instead of insulting. Liam pushed himself up to sit on the counter. He must have put the meat tenderizer away.
“You said the best,” she pointed out.
“I meant they’re good. I’m not used to this American competitiveness.” Liam winked at her, as in he actually winked like the charming love interest in a bad romantic comedy.
I shook my head to clear it of the dizzying effect his accent had on me. I didn’t want pronunciation and geography lessons from Liam, I wanted him to leave. But the more Jess talked to him, the less likely he was going to.
Traitor. Traitor. Traitor.
I hurled the word psychically as though she might be able to hear it in her head since I couldn’t say it out loud.
But she didn’t turn around, so I was forced to join them. I plastered a scowl across my face so she would know exactly how much trouble she was in.
“Hi, hen.” Liam winked again, but since this time it was directed at me, I found it significantly less annoying.
“Did you just call me a chicken?” I asked.
Liam gave me a sheepish grin. “Sorry. It’s like what you Americans say—baby?”
I clucked twice at him. “Keep digging the hole.”
“Let me make you a plate,” he said.
“I really shouldn’t,” I called, trying to stop him, but he was already pulling a fresh waffle from the mysterious waffle iron he’d discovered somewhere in the depths of our kitchen. “I have class in an hour.”
“There’s plenty of time,” he said. “And a growing girl needs breakfast.”
Jess’s hand shot out and squeezed mine, reminding me to stay calm.
“Growing?” I repeated. Once you hit twenty, you only grew one direction.
“Shite. I keep putting my foot in my mouth, don’t I?”
I could think of a few other places for him to put it. Thoughts like this are what Jess calls “putting up barriers to healthy relationships.” She was an expert on such things after two semesters of psych class.
“Please, sit down,” Liam begged. His eyes softened until he looked like a sad puppy.
I groaned but I pulled the stool out.
“Sorry,” she mouthed as I sat down.
I ignored her. If I couldn’t count on her to help me with pest control, I might have to revoke her best friend card. It’s not like I put her in this situation a lot. I usually have a pretty good eye for the clingy types—the ones who want to take you out to dinner or actually talk about your major. I never brought those types home. I’d honestly thought Liam was looking for an American conquest, and why wouldn’t I want to bag a Scot for my own bragging rights?
The buzz of a text message forced me to look over at her. I angled my head to see who she was texting, but the counter blocked my view. I reached over and made a play for the phone.
“Hey!” Jess elbowed me, but I caught her arm and used my other hand to tickle her neck. It worked like a charm. Jess dropped the phone just like I knew she would, and I lunged for it. Liam was oblivious, too busy searching for a clean fork.
CASSIE: OMG, AND HE’S MAKING BREAKFAST?!?! DON’T LET HER FUCK IT UP.
Above the text there was a fuzzy pic of Liam snapped when he wasn’t looking. I waved the phone at her and stuck it in my pocket. I might want Liam to leave but I wasn’t going to reveal that my crazy roommate, and soon-to-be-former best friend, was taking pictures of him half-naked in my kitchen.
“Give it back,” Jess whined.
“If you’re good,” I said, settling back onto my bar stool.
Liam placed a waffle in front of me. It looked suspiciously like there was butter and syrup on it.
“Did you buy groceries?” I asked Jess.
“I ran to the market,” Liam said with a wave of the hand. “You didn’t have any food in your flat.”
“Because we don’t cook,” I said. Not only had he not run off this morning, he had come back, and with groceries, no less!
“We cook, Jills,” Jess said, but I shot her a look that warned her not to encourage him.
I cut into the waffle and took a bite. Butter. Syrup. Vanilla. Despite myself, I moaned.
“Somebody likes your waffles,” Jess said, smirking at me.
“I have a high proficiency in moan-inducing,” Liam said without missing a beat.
Jess’s eyes grew wide, and I swatted her across the back. “Don’t choke.”
“That’s what she said,” they both teased on cue.
The game of wit was interrupted by Taylor Swift belting out a song about breaking up. Liam snatched my phone up from the counter. “It says Tara.”
“My mom. Ignore it. I’ll call her back later,” I said, grabbing it and hitting the ignore button. The last thing I needed right now was a chat with Tara.
“Jillian.” Jess’s voice held a familiar warning edge. She knew not taking a call from Tara was tantamount to raising the national security level. Of course, Jess had been there when the campus police knocked on my door sophomore year to check on a report of a missing person only to discover the missing person was at home, ignoring her mother’s phone calls. My mom could be a tad too dramatic.
“I will call her later,” I repeated. I turned my gaze on my friend and flashed her my phone. “Don’t you need to get going?”
“Crap.” Jess shoveled her last bite in her mouth and scrambled off her chair. “It was lovely to meet you, Liam. Feel free to come back and feed us anytime.”
“I’d be happy to.” Liam’s lips curved into a crooked smile.
Damn, he was really cute.
As soon as Jess made for her bedroom, I grabbed my plate and dared entry into the kitchen.
“Are you sure you don’t want seconds?” Liam asked. From his tone, I couldn’t tell if we were talking about waffles or something else.
“The thing is that I don’t go back for seconds,” I said, putting my plate into the sink.
“Not even another waffle?” Liam asked. “I hear they’re delicious.”
“If your student visa runs out, you should get a job at the waffle house,” I said.
“High praise from the snow queen!” he cried, scooping a waffle off the iron and buttering it.
“I am not a snow queen.” Liam had known me all of five minutes. Apparently having sex with someone unlocked their innermost secrets now. “Why are you still here?”
“Not done with breakfast.”
“And then you’ll leave?” I asked.
“I have other plans after breakfast.” He abandoned the slightly burned waffle and lunged for me. I stepped back, and he planted his hands on either side of the counter, trapping me between him and freedom. He was close enough to touch but he hovered just inches away.
“And they are?” I breathed.
“Warm up the snow queen.”
“I’m not the snow—”
His lips were over mine before I finished the sentence. It didn’t matter anyway as his arms circled around me, and I dissolved against him, momentarily too distracted by his mouth to think logically. Only my thin t-shirt lay between me and his coiled muscles, and when I ran my fingers down them, I could feel each rigidly cut ab. This was what people meant when they said washboard.
“What were you saying about seconds?” he whispered in my ear, nipping at it with his teeth.
“I never go back for them.”
“Sure about that?” he asked.
His stubble tickled just behind my earlobe, raising goosebumps along my arms. I wrapped them around his neck and brushed my lips against his. “I guess there’s a first time for everything.”
But before he could kiss me back, I ducked out from his embrace.
“That’s not fair,” Liam said.
“Sorry.” I tossed his wadded up t-shirt at him. “I have class.”
I watched as he pulled the shirt over his head, admiring the way it tousled his light hair. I imagined running my fingers through it and skin and sweat and...
Class
, I thought firmly.
“Why don’t you skip today?” he suggested as he leaned against the counter. The tight knit of his shirt showcased his chiseled upper body. It didn’t seem possible, but he might look even better with a shirt on. “We have to work off those waffles, and if you behave, I’ll show you how I make a naked lunch.”
“That’s a book,” I said automatically, forcing myself to look at his face and change the subject.
“I know.”
God, I hoped he wasn’t going to try to talk about it with me. I’d used an online study guide to squeak by on the test.
“I’ve never read it,” he admitted, grinning sheepishly.
There was something insanely sexy about his confession. I’d encountered enough guys on campus who waxed philosophical to try to get into my pants. Liam, on the other hand, seemed smart without being pretentious, which made me want to jump him more.
A warning bell went off in my head.
“What do you say?”
I shook my head. “I can’t.”
“Forget about the work-out. We can just hang out.”
It was a sweet offer, and I could tell by the way his blue eyes grew wide with hope that he was being sincere. Nothing sounded better than staying in bed with him for one last hurrah before I avoided him for the rest of the academic year, but this time I was telling the truth. I couldn’t skip class. “It’s not that. I have to maintain a certain grade point average or I’m outta here.”
“Scholarship?” he asked. He sounded too interested.
“Something like that.” I skirted around the question to avoid the twenty more questions it would raise. I’d learned a long time ago that it was easier to let people think I was dependent on financial aid than to explain the strange deal I had struck with my mother. “Look, I’m going to be late and I hate being late.”
“I’ll get out of your hair.”
He leaned over and gave me a chaste kiss on the cheek, which I took as a sign that I’d finally won. I practically strutted over to the front door to let him out. At the last second, he turned to say something, but I cut him off with a firm “good-bye” and closed the door in his face.
As I locked it behind him, I couldn’t help but wonder what he was about to tell me. Probably something cheesy like “thank you” or worse yet—”I’ll call you.” He might have even meant it.
For now.
“You don’t have class for three hours,” Jess said, startling me from my thoughts.
“He doesn’t know that,” I said as I pushed past her towards my bedroom.
“He’s nice.” Jess followed me, despite the fact that she did actually have a nine o’clock lab. Unlike my reduced schedule, Jess was taking more classes than two sane people combined.
“That’s exactly why I wanted him to go,” I said. He was nice.
Too nice.
Jess opened her mouth and shut it again. She’d learned a long time ago this was one point I wouldn’t budge on. Getting attached at the hip just meant heartbreak. It was better to get attached at the groin once and call it a good night.
“Call your mom,” she finally said. “I’ve got to get to Anatomy.”
“Enjoy!” I called. Jess didn’t respond, so I knew she was pissed at me, even though she’d dropped the issue. Later tonight, I would swipe her textbook and put naughty Post-It notes in it, labeling all the bodily organs with dirty words. She had enough stress in her life without me adding to it, but nothing cheered a girl up like a well-placed series of the-birds-and-the-bees inspired commentary in your Anatomy text.
When the front door locked, I picked up my phone and did the last thing I felt like doing. I called my mother. I figured I may as well get all the crappy stuff out of the way before 9 a.m. Besides, maybe she had more useless kitchen gadgets for me.
chapter three
I got to my first Interpersonal Communications class in time to slide into a seat in the back. It was the perfect spot to guarantee that the professor wouldn’t call on me to answer questions on chapters I wasn’t going to read. I unpacked my laptop and popped onto Facebook. Jess had recommended the class, but Cassie, who was majoring in Public Relations, was the one who had assured me it would be cake and that I would have plenty of time to screw around online. I was well into checking status updates from my friends, many of whom I hadn’t seen since summer vacation ended, when the professor walked in.
“Good afternoon, or should I say good morning? I’m Professor Markson,” he said as he pulled a stack of stapled papers from his messenger bag. He was in his late twenties but wore a sweater vest in a bid to gain the respect of students that weren’t much his junior and probably to hide the fact that he was otherwise gorgeous. Maybe Hispanic, I couldn’t be sure with the distraction of the horrible sweater. Regardless, I could guess why Jess found the class so interesting.
There was a smattering of appreciative laughs throughout the room. It was well-established on the Olympic State campus that you shouldn’t plan a Thursday morning class. Everyone went out on Wednesday nights, so the earliest acceptable class time was after noon, preferably later if you were someone like me. But this semester, I couldn’t do any better than twelve, so I went with it.
“I’m sure a lot of you are hoping for an easy A this semester, and I’m happy to grant you that,” the professor continued. I perked up. This was very good news.
“But—”
Crap, there was always a but. This didn’t bode well.
“I’m going to make you work for that A while you are in class.” He smiled as several people groaned. “First of all, they’ve given us a really big classroom, so I’m going to ask all of you who snuck into the back to move up and join the rest of us.”
This time I was the one who groaned, but I grabbed my laptop and bag and found a seat near the front of the room.
“You’ll be working with partners this semester, so take a look to your left or right and find your new best friend.”
I did as I was told, but as I turned my head I found myself face to face with Liam. He was grinning, his arms folded behind his head, looking rather triumphant. He’d tamed his hair, but a few pieces stuck up, and I liked to think I’d given him a case of unbreakable bedhead.
“Hey, chicken,” he said.
I immediately looked to the other side of me and found the chair empty.
“My name is Jillian,” I reminded him, turning back to him.
“I know. Sorry, I won’t call you chicken anymore.” He looked a little hurt, which made him look a little sexy. Fantastic.
I immediately began to think of all the ways I was going to murder Jess for suggesting this class. Strangling? Too nice. Hit and run? Too much work. I finally landed on spoon just as a syllabus slid onto the desk in front of me.
“You two will be partners,” Markson said.
I wanted to thank him for the reminder, but I was too busy trying to avoid eye contact with Liam.
“As you can see, there are a variety of exercises you will work through with your partner in class. If you’re lucky, you will each have landed with someone who actually does the reading, but the statistics aren’t in your favor. So may I suggest you do the readings just in case?”
I scanned the syllabus and realized with horror that the final wasn’t going to be a test but a conversation in front of the whole class with my partner. I was sure they’d be thrilled to listen in on Liam and I debating our one-night stand. I imagined how it would go down. In my head, the entire argument came down to the meat tenderizer. Or maybe the mysterious waffle iron.
“This doesn’t look bad,” Liam said, scooting his desk a bit closer to mine.
“I’m dropping this class,” I announced.
“You’d go that far to avoid talking to me, huh?” Liam asked. “You’re going to give me a complex. Am I that bad in bed?”
The answer was definitely not, so I kept it to myself.
“I was told this class was easy,” I said. I didn’t actually want to hurt his feelings, but I didn’t want to encourage them either.
“It looks easy. We’ll learn to communicate better.”
“I can talk already. Thanks,” I said.
“But if you talked to me, I could convince you that waking up to my waffles is a good life decision,” Liam said.
A figure coughed, and we looked up to see Professor Markson watching us.
“Yes?” I asked. If I was going to drop the class, I didn’t feel the need to be polite. After all, he had screwed up my chance at a nice easy class this semester. The rest of my schedule looked tough, and I was already getting flak for having no declared major. Not that it mattered.
“I had some notes for you on your interaction,” he said to us. “It seems that she isn’t very open to your overtures.”
I almost choked on my own spit by gasping so hard at his boldness. By now the whole class had turned to stare at us.
“Actually, mate, she’s not,” Liam said with a grin. “I’d love some pointers.”
“You keep using YOU statements when you try to convince her to give you a chance,” Markson pointed out. “I noticed you saying things like ‘you should.’”
“So?” I asked him. I couldn’t believe he was actually meddling with my love life in front of twenty other students.
“It’s making you defensive. Look how you’re reacting to my critique,” he said to me.
“You’re embarrassing me,” I said. “That’s why I’m reacting to your critique.”
“That’s another YOU statement.”
“What exactly is a YOU statement?” Liam asked. He leaned forward, and I got a glimpse of his glorious arms. I wondered if his ego was half as big as his biceps.
“Instead of couching a statement in how you feel, you make an assumption about what the other person is doing or why. Often, it’s when you accuse someone of acting a certain way.”
“So like when I accused you of being totally up in my business?” I asked.
Professor Markson laughed nervously, adjusting his petite bow tie. “Fair enough. But I’m trying to use you as an example.”
“I’m a student. Not a lab rat,” I muttered.
“When you communicate how someone’s actions are affecting you, say ‘I feel like you’re embarrassing me in front of the class.’ It sounds less accusative, yes? And you—” he gestured to Liam— “might say ‘I feel like you’re avoiding talking to me.’ This opens up a direct line of conversation through which you can more effectively communicate and resolve issues.”
He really wasn’t going to drop this. I spotted more than a few of my classmates covering their smiles behind their syllabi. Fine, two could play this game.
“Okay, I think I get it,” I said. “I feel like this is pointless.”
Markson tipped his head to the side. “Do you? That’s a shame. It will be essential for your careers and domestic life to be able to communicate your needs.”
Liam raised his hand. “I would like to state that I feel I would like to communicate effectively with Jillian.”
“Then why don’t you try again?” Markson suggested.
I hid my face in my hands as Liam swiveled to face me in his seat. I could feel the eyes of everyone in the class on us.
“I feel like I’d like to make you waffles in the morning and maybe the morning after, too. I feel strongly I could be convinced to make you waffles for a very long stretch of the foreseeable future,” he said.
The class broke out in a fit of applause. More than a few people whooped their approval of his “I” statements. One girl even yelled, “You can make me waffles anytime!”
“Now how do you want to respond, Miss...?” Markson trailed off.
“Nichols,” I said. “Okay. I feel like I’m dropping this class.” I scooped up my things and made a beeline for the door. This drew some boos, although a few kind souls yelled for me to come back.
No way was I going to stay there to be humiliated in the name of Interpersonal Communication. I slammed through the doors at the end of the hall and found myself in the building’s entrance when my phone rang. I fished it out of my pocket and, when I saw Tara on the caller ID, decided I was properly worked up to handle a conversation with my mother.
“Hi, Tara,” I said as I answered the call. I could almost hear the wince on the other end when I called her by her first name.
“Jillian,” my mother said, extending my name as though it was a drawn out thought. I often wondered if she was actually puzzling out why she was on the phone with me when she started a conversation this way. “How is the first day?”
“Fan-fucking-tastic,” I snapped.
“Language, Jillian.”
I had to disappoint her at least four times every phone call, so I ticked off one mentally.
I’m not sure why she would care how my day was. Tara had no interest in seeing me graduate from college, and she’d made her feelings on the matter known on multiple occasions.
She didn’t notice the annoyance I had
so carefully
displayed in my answer. She never did. Instead, she immediately switched to business mode. “Your father received the bill for tuition. You’re only taking twelve credit hours.”
“For someone who keeps advising me to drop out, I would think you would be thrilled I’m taking a lighter course load this semester,” I said as I wedged the phone so I could shove my laptop back in my bag.
“Your father and I want to know that this isn’t a waste of time,” she said.
“You want to know it isn’t a waste of money,” I corrected her.
“You know what they say about time and money,” she said. This was my mother’s idea of a joke but neither of us laughed.
“If you want, I’ll just get loans,” I said. This wasn’t really about money, because my parents were loaded. It was just another instance of Tara attempting to control my life.
“Don’t be dramatic,” she said in a flat voice.
“You’re the one who called me on my first day of classes to criticize me!” I was really getting it on all sides right now. I could imagine Markson would have a lot to say about my mother’s and my interpersonal communication.
“I want to know you are taking care of yourself. If you feel you can only handle twelve credit hours, maybe you should consider—”
“Mom,” I cut her off. “I have to get to class. I’ll email you later.”
“Fine.” The call ended without an
I love you
or a
talk to you later
. Just like every other conversation I’d ever had with Tara.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, and I jerked around to discover Liam standing behind me.
“I’m sorry for what happened back there,” he said. “I promise if you come back to class that I will defend your honor and tell Markson to bugger off.”
Despite my foul mood, his proficient use of UK slang made me smile. It went well with his accent.
“A smile!” His face lit up all the way to his bright blue eyes. “Does that mean you accept my apology?”
“Don’t push it,” I muttered.
“If you don’t come back to class, I will be forced to work with Markson on my communication skills,” he warned.
“That would be a fitting punishment for going along with him,” I said as I slung my bag over my shoulder.
“Or worse yet,” Liam said, “I could remain partnerless and be forced to cultivate multiple personalities to effectively learn to communicate and then I would wind up alone and talking to myself.”
“I’m sure one of the other girls will save you from that fate worse than death,” I said. “Listen, there’s no way I’m going back in there. It was humiliating.”
I hated to admit this to him, but it was the truth and since I wasn’t going to see him after today, it didn’t matter if I told him. I didn’t bother to add that I’d had my fair share of embarrassing experiences in the classrooms of Olympic State. I really didn’t need my professor to tack on any additional indignities for the sake of higher learning.
“You made your point. I think you shamed poor Markson. He barely finished going over the syllabus before he let us go,” Liam said.
Good
, I thought. At the same time, I gave Liam a defiant shake of my head. “No deal.”
“Okay, let’s compromise,” Liam said. “I won’t ask you out again if you come back. It will be strictly academic.”
I took one look at his crooked grin and wondered if he could keep his own promise.
“I’ll think about it,” I said.
Liam leaned in to whisper in my ear. “Here’s the catch. If you don’t come back to class, I will be forced to sing at your window and write you bad poetry until you do.”
I glanced at his face and realized he was serious.
“You really do need to work on your communication,” I said. “If you’re going to threaten me with bad poetry to get me to talk to you.”
“Every girl’s nightmare?” he asked.
I’m guessing it was more than a few girls’ fantasy. Not mine though.
“I’ll see you on Thursday,” I said finally.
If seeing Liam two days a week would cement him firmly into the friend category, I was willing to put up with Markson.
“Oh, piece of advice?” he called as I pushed open the exit. “Use more ‘I’ statements with your mom.”
I tossed my hair over my shoulder, deciding to ignore him, but I couldn’t help but throw one last look at him as I backed through the door. All he did was wink.